The Gift
by attackamazon
Summary: Ashildr had assumed that her betrothal to Ulfric Stormcloak would be inevitable. After political necessity gets in the way, however, she finds herself betrothed after all. To Galmar. A reluctant love story.


_For some reason, I always tend to paint Galmar as the bad guy. But I think the character is really a lot more complex than that. So, a short one-shot in which Galmar is actually a pretty cool dude._

* * *

Ashildr was careful to keep her face a composed mask as the gates of Riften approached, though if she had had her rathers she would have reined the horse right around and ridden off screaming into the woods until this nightmare was far, far behind her. But, she rode with great company, so great manners were required. And there would be no escape for the Dragonborn this time. _How is it that I can save the world and innumerable lives and livelihoods along the way, and yet I can't even save myself from one little marriage?_ she thought, bitterly.

As they waited for the gate guards to grant them entrance, she caught the eye of the priest Erandur, who was watching her in the inscrutable way that all of the Mer seemed to have. _I know_, she wanted to yell at him. She had insisted that he be the one to perform the ceremony for two reasons: mainly that it would constitute a delay while he was fetched from his hermitage, but also because she had been absolutely sure that he would refuse once he had observed the reality of the situation and that he would send word to the Riften temple as well. It was an insult to the goddess to enter into such a marriage. But after she had fully explained it all to him, Erandur had considered for a moment and then _agreed_.

"You are a grown woman and you are in no respect helpless," he had told her bluntly. "This is a small thing compared to what I have personally seen you face. Save yourself, if you feel it necessary."

But she could not. Ulfric and his advisors had sewn it all up too neatly while she was otherwise occupied chasing the Legion from his borders. The marriage had been announced before she had even returned from the field and, by the time she had gotten wind of it and ridden like a madwoman back to Windhelm to register her outrage, all of Skyrim seemed to know.

"It's for the best," Ulfric had told her, benevolently, as she paced his study like a caged sabre cat. "Galmar is my right arm and you are my left. I know you have been unhappy. And after what you have been through, you deserve a good life with a home and a husband, with ties to the land and the people you protect. I have named you Stormcloak, a member of my own family. Hjerim Manor here in the city will be yours, and Galmar is a good man. Consider it a gift, in honor of your faithful service."

_A gift?_ she had wanted to shriek at him, but had held her tongue, biting her lip until she could taste her own blood. She had sworn to serve Ulfric, and now was not the time to create division in his inner circle. The future of Skyrim depended on him maintaining control during this most delicate of times, and that required the Dragonborn to act in concert with his wishes. Still, it was a shock and an unforgivable presumption, and it was all she could do not to follow it up with what she had been trying to say to him for months now. _I would have married _you_ if you had asked._

Ashildr was not blind to the political machinations that had brought this about. Ulfric's power needed to be concentrated and carefully maintained. His wife had died childless years ago, and he would need an heir to succeed him. Ashildr was the obvious choice, but too powerful in her own right.

"The people need to be aware that it is Ulfric who rules them, not his queen," the councilors told her, when they had eventually cornered her in order to, politely, reinforce to her that this marriage was non-negotiable and _would_ go on even if they were forced to coercive tactics. The Dragonborn, after all, was not immune to intrigue and there were secrets hidden in the messy process of saving the world and in her own history that could be whispered in the right ears to make life considerably more difficult for her and other people she cared about. "Our lord Ulfric cannot spare you from active service in order to take up the softer arts of queencraft, besides. And we are well aware of your shifting and nomadic habits, Dragonborn. This marriage will serve to remind you of where your loyalties lay."

_As if anything you could do would keep me from leaving if I decided to go_, Ashildr thought poisonously. There was more to it than they were saying, of course. She had been a common mercenary before the dragon blood had surged up inside of her and set her on this path. She had scarcely slept under the same roof for more than a fortnight in all of her life, having traveled as baggage and camp follower with her father's company from as far back as she could remember until she was old enough to take up a sword herself. The "softer arts", as they said, had always eluded her and, grudgingly, she had to agree that she could not see herself as a queen, bearing babies and overseeing a gabbling flock of noble ladies. That did not mean that she appreciated being pandered off as an unwilling wife to some other man either, even if she was not fit for Ulfric.

Galmar, for his part, had avoided her assiduously since she had returned to Windhelm. No doubt he was little pleased with the arrangement himself. She had no quarrel with him, he was a better commander than many she had worked for over the years and his gruffness was just what you had to expect from someone who had spent a good three-fourths of his life fighting wars. Half of the men she had grown up around had been just the same and, in another ten years or so, she would no doubt follow suit. While she could tolerate him easily enough on the field and in the war-room, imagining having to put on a show of domestic bliss with him and share a house and a bed . . . and, Nine Gods above, the wifely duties that went along with that bed . . . made her guts twist in panic.

As they processed into the city, citizens lining up along the road to watch the pageantry as their future High King and the Dragonborn passed by on their way to the Temple, Ashildr snuck a glance at the old bear, arrayed still in his steel and bear hide armor, though it had all obviously been cleaned and shined for the occasion. His expression was as unreadable as stone, set as always in a sullen mask, and he kept his eyes trained resolutely ahead of him. _You can stop this, too_, she thought at him,_ they won't listen to me, but Ulfric would listen to you_. She knew that he wouldn't, though. Galmar would charge headlong into Oblivion if Ulfric asked him to, and no doubt the betrothal had been put to him as just such a request.

A priest met them at the gates of the Temple of Mara and spoke a few words with Ulfric and Erandur, before approaching Ashildr while the others were led into the hall. He smiled, beneficently.

"Dragonborn, may I offer my most hearty congratulations? It is good to see love blooming even in this difficult time."

_You are a blind fool_, she boiled angrily in her mind, but forced herself to nod.

"Do you require anything before we begin the ceremony? If you need a place to change into your wedding attire . . ." he asked, with a glance at her armor.

"No, I'm dressed," she replied curtly. Ulfric's steward had offered to have a dress commission for her, but she had refused point blank. _By Talos, if I'm going to be sold off like a wheel of cheese, they can take me as I am, armored, armed, and all._ As a concession, she had suffered the servants to plait her mane of hair, as blonde as ripe wheat now that it was well-washed and carefully dried, into an intricate crown of knot-work on top of her head.

"Very well, then. If you'll come with me," the priest said, nonplussed. Gritting her teeth, her heart pounding like she was about to charge into battle, she ascended the stairs to the door of the Temple. After a few moments, the light music of the flutes and gitterns filtered out from within, and the priest opened the door for her.

The wedding was nothing if not well-attended. Ulfric and his steward were in the front row of the left bank of pews, of course, as well as many of the other Jarls who had arrived the day before. She could see Ralof grinning at her further back. _There's no dragging me off of the block this time, old friend_, she thought wistfully. _If only you could_. On the right, she was surprised to see the Companions represented by Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela. Farkas, as always, looked happy, while Aela and Vilkas seemed more skeptical. Behind them, the Blades, whom she had not really expected to ever see again, completed the professional coterie. Other familiar faces from her travels filled the last rows, and she was slightly put off to spot Brynjolf and Delvin hanging towards the very back. _I'm done with that life, let me be. You people are part of the reason I had to agree to this_, she thought at them, venomously. Brynjolf just smiled at her, as if to reply, y_ou'll be back in due time._

Galmar did not look at her as she processed up the aisle, staring resolutely at the altar in front of him, while Erandur regarded her with his red Dunmer gaze expectantly. _You can stop this at any time_, he seemed to say, and she clenched her jaw. _You don't understand._

The ceremony was short and Erandur did it full justice, speaking solemnly about the "bonds of love" and the "union of two souls in eternal companionship". Though he knew her thoughts on the situation, it did not sound like an accusation. Given his own history, no doubt the dark elf was the last person to reproach anyone for faithlessness.

"Do you, Galmar Stone-Fist, agree to be bound together in love now and forever?" he asked finally, turning to where the big man stood next to her. _Say no, say no, say no_, she prayed, but knew it would be in vain.

"I do. Now and forever," he growled out, more than a little stiffly. Why did it sound like a prison sentence when he said it?

Erandur turned to her then, and she felt her heart jump into her throat. _I'm not really going to do this, am I?_ She felt everyone's eyes on her, but especially Ulfric's, and sighed inwardly.

"Do you, Ashildr Stormcloak . . ." he began, and she could not keep herself from flinching at the new name that been bestowed upon her after her victory. When Ulfric had said it, she had thought it was a symbol of what was to come. And, disastrously, she supposed she had been right. _Sister, rather than wife_. ". . .agree to be bound together in love now and forever?"

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck, and she glanced over to see that Galmar was looking at her now, too. _Are you hoping that I'll be the one to cry and run out the door?_ she wondered. But she could hear an uneasy shift in the crowd behind her as the silence continued, and so she cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak.

"I . . . do," she said in defeat, feeling as if all the blood was draining out of her. "Now and _forever_." And it was going to _feel_ like forever, she had no doubt.

She stood despondently still as Galmar moved towards her to deposit the obligatory kiss that sealed the deal, and turned her face slightly so that it landed on her cheek instead of her lips. His hand on her shoulder was tense and he stepped back from her more quickly than was proper for a loving husband. _Husband_. _Galmar_. She was glad to have refused breakfast that morning, otherwise she would have retched it onto the floor right then and there.

~~0~~

The Black-Briar family had agreed to host the reception, which carried on until Ashildr thought she really would scream from all of the congratulations and well-wishing and merriment that she could not share. Finally, when the hour was growing late and she could stand it no longer, she mentioned a headache to Jorlief the steward and slipped out early, snatching a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve for comfort as she did. The Bee and Barb Inn had been booked solid for the travelers, and the Argonian innkeeper Keerava beamed in a truly horrifying fashion at Ashildr as she entered.

"Well, the blushing bride. Come with me and I'll show you to your room."

It was, she reflected, the best room in the inn. The proprietors had done their best to make it cozy and inviting, placing fresh flowers in vases and candles around. The big bed was already turned down, and Ashildr could not suppress a shudder at the thoughts that sprang to mind.

"Just let us know if you need anything," Keerava told her, with a wink, and left her alone. Ashildr could not get the get the cork out of the bottle of mead quickly enough. She took a long draught, gasping as she set it down on the dresser and started to paw at the straps of her armor. _I don't care if there's a ring on my finger_, she thought, _that's too much to ask._

When she was down to her tunic and breeches, her boots kicked into the corner, she collapsed onto the bed and took another pull at the bottle of Black-Briar. Whatever Ulfric and his advisors hoped to gain by shackling her to Galmar, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She would have stayed in Ulfric's service regardless, even to watch him marry someone else. Yes, she was a mercenary, but over the last year her outlook had changed a little. There _were_ things that were worth fighting for just on principle. Or maybe she had finally found a set up that was good enough that she was willing to give up her rogue's liberty to keep it after all these years. Whatever the reason, this was a job she could not just walk away from lightly. After the last couple of weeks, however, she was sorely tempted. The war was won, and Ulfric didn't need her anymore. She could be off and away within the hour, find new contracts to serve and let Ulfric get on with the business of being king without her.

_You won't_, _though_, she told herself, uncomfortably. _You'd have left days ago if you were going to do that._ And why hadn't she? Ulfric, of course. _I'm no giggling callow maiden who should be hanging on some man's word, what's wrong with me?_

Ashildr upended the bottle, draining the last of the mead, and set it aside, leaning back and closing her eyes and letting the dizzying warmth of the alcohol take effect. She was going to need a lot more of it in order to cope with this marriage. At a creak in the floorboards and the sound of heavy steps in the hall outside, she scrambled quickly under the covers and turned on her side away from the door, trying to relax her body. She had intended to stay up until Galmar arrived and set the record straight on why she had agreed to the marriage and what her expectations were, but found that her courage failed her at the last moment.

The door opened and closed again, and she heard his breathing from across the room. _I'm asleep_, she thought, willing him to believe it. _You don't want to bother me_. After a moment, she heard him moving around, snuffing out the candles, and felt the bed shift as he sat down with a grunt. Her heartbeat raced, as she expected his heavy hand to fall on her shoulder at any moment. In the end, she heard him drop his boots by the bed and then lay down. After a tense few minutes, he turn onto his side, leaving a generous space between their bodies in the big bed, and then silence.

It would be hours before Ashildr drifted off to sleep and, listening to him breathing in the darkness as he listened also to her, she realized that the same was true of her new husband._Well, this wedding night has gone splendidly_, she thought, and buried her face in her pillow.

~~0~~

The weather had started to turn by the time the wedding party rode back to Windhelm, the blustery breeze making conversation difficult, for which Ashildr was profoundly grateful. Not a word had passed between her and Galmar since the wedding, as she had woken early and dashed from the room to eat breakfast down stairs in order to give him time to situate himself before she returned for her belongings. Even though he rode at her side, he barely looked at her. They would have to speak to each other eventually, they had too much common business to attend to, but neither of them seemed able or willing to break the stalemate.

When they arrived back in the city, the party dispersed. Ulfric and his people to the Palace, the guards to their barracks, which left Ashildr and Galmar to go to Hjerim Manor alone. She looked for Erandur and practically begged him to go with them.

"It's a long ride back to Dawnstar," she said, desperately. "Stay with us for a few days."

"You'll have to sort this one out for yourself, Ashildr," he said, but he smiled at her sympathetically. "I will stay at the Candlehearth for a few days, though, in case you need . . . spiritual guidance. I suspect that this will turn out to be a blessing from Lady Mara, however much it seems like a punishment now."

Rebuffed, she turned to Galmar who was waiting for her with a disgruntled expression. Of course. She had the keys to the house.

"Go on ahead," she told him, awkwardly, handing him the key. He took it, but his dark grey eyes narrowed slightly.

"Where will you be?"

"I . . ." she started, pausing because she really did not have a plan. Fumbling for an answer, she continued, "I forgot to tell the stable-master to have a look at my horse's back shoes. I think one is coming loose."

It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. It was something she could easily have waited until later to do or at least sent her housecarl Calder instead. Instead of arguing, though, Galmar nodded, as if this was sufficient explanation, and turned towards the manor district to the west of the Palace. She watched him go with a mixture of consternation and allayed fear. Evidently, the situation was just as onerous for him as it was for her, and she was not sure whether to be relieved or offended.

She did walk back out to the stables, however. And then, she haunted the marketplace, hoping for any distraction that might delay her for another hour or so, until the evening light began to go soft and she could see the merchants packing in their wares. _Look at me_, she thought, disdainfully_. I've killed dragons single-handedly, and I'm too scared to go home and speak to my own husband._ Unfortunately, there were no dragons in evidence, and so she was forced to make her way back to her new house.

Calder greeted her with an apprehensive expression when she arrived at the door. He had not been at the wedding, having remained to see to the house while they were gone, and she recalled that he had not actually met Galmar yet. _Poor man,_ she thought, and tried to smile at him. His dark brown eyes did not return the sentiment.

"Thane. Your husband is upstairs." The tension in the word _husband_ told her all she needed to know about how the first meeting between the two men had gone.

"Thank you, Calder," she said, and dug in her belt pouch. She handed him a handful of gold pieces, and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Why don't you go down to the Candlehearth and buy yourself a drink? On me."

The housecarl needed no second bidding, and she sighed as he went. If only escape could be so easy for her. _Now and forever_.

A great deal had been done to the house over the last few days, and she could not help but be impressed. It looked like a proper home. A wedding gift, Ulfric had told her before they left. The thought of it galled her, but she could not help but admit that it was a nice change to the otherwise dour house and more than generous.

She found Galmar in the bedroom in the process of removing his armor. He glanced up at her as he removed his bearskin helm and set it aside, his greying blonde hair falling in sweaty locks around his shoulders. Had she ever seen him without it? Never, she decided and felt a distinct desire to look away, as if she had come in on him while he was indecent.

"That housecarl of yours needs a lesson in discipline," he growled, to break the silence. "Looks to me as if he's gotten soft up here in the city."

Ashildr felt her jaw tense to bite off a scathing retort. She swallowed it instead, because she would have to at least make the attempt at living with this man. For now.

"I'll have a word with him," she said, though she would do no such thing. Calder was not the strongest or most apt with a sword of the little family of housecarls she had collected during her time in Skyrim, but he made up for it by being clever and generally decent company. It was not as if she really needed the protection herself. She cleared her throat, and went for the breach. "There are some things we need to talk about, I think."

"What's there to talk about?" he asked, gruffly, but she could see his expression grow wary.

"We've fought together for the last few months, but we still don't know each other very well. If this is going to work, then we need to sort some things out."

He paused and then began to shuck off his leather vambraces.

"Fine. Talk, then."

This was not going in any way as she had expected. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unable to find words to say exactly what she wanted to say. _I never imagined or wanted it to be you I was married to, but now that I'm stuck with you . . . ._

"I need to know what you expect from me," she blurted out finally.

"What's any man expect from his wife?" he replied, as he started in on the straps of his cuirass without so much as batting an eye.

_You're going to make me say it, aren't you?_ _You're going to make me tell you to your face why I agreed to this farce,_ she thought, feeling her temper flare up in exasperation. She closed her eyes for a moment. "Specifically, so I know where we stand."

"People have been marrying since the dawn of time, I don't guess it'll be that hard to figure out."

"Fine," she replied, unwilling to play the game any longer. "I'll tell you what I think, then. This is not what I had in mind, and I'm sure it's not what you did either. But I don't see any reason why we can't be civil to each other. I will be respectful of you, as long as you are respectful of me. I will treat you as a husband in public; otherwise I will try to stay out of your way. If you decide to find . . . comfort . . . elsewhere, all I ask is that I don't have to hear about it."

He said nothing, but she noticed that he tossed his cuirass aside with perhaps more force than was necessary. _Now we're getting somewhere._

"Are you finished?" he replied, moving on to his thick, spiked greaves. She nodded, disturbed by the evenness of his tone, and waited for the storm to break. He straightened and tossed the greaves on top of his cuirass before walking past her towards the door, grunting, "I don't know about you, but I could eat a horse."

She watched him go, incredulously, but he did not turn back. If he had shouted at her, she would have known how to cope with it, but his refusal to do so put her seriously off balance. Eventually, she descended the stairs and endured a dinner in dead silence. This was, if possible, going to be worse than she had imagined.

~~0~~

Ulfric had granted them a few days leave to situate themselves as newlyweds and insisted that they take it, otherwise Ashildr would have been back to work immediately the following day. Anything to keep from having to be alone with her husband. Galmar had ridden off with his pig of a brother to hunt in the hills to the west, which was some relief, and so she busied herself seeing that the house was in order, the larder was stocked, and that her growing collection of arms and armor were cleaned and stowed in the armory. Galmar's belongings arrived from the Palace around noon, and she walked around the satchels and bundles of weapons and armor, trying to decide whether or not she should delve into the contents or not. Eventually, she just had Calder help her move them into the armory and decided that he could sort them out himself.

"I don't mean to pry, Thane," Calder said, as he dumped the last of the load next to the wall. "It's none of my business, of course, but . . . I didn't think you cared much for Galmar Stone-Fist."

She had never said as much, but Calder was perceptive and it was clear that he had picked up on her reticence about the marriage.

"Galmar's not a bad man. I don't dislike him," she said, before admitting, "This is . . . convenient."

Calder nodded his understanding then and scratched his dark brown growth of beard, embarrassed on her behalf.

"If there's anything I can do . . ."

_What _could _you do,_ she wanted to ask, _short of putting a sword through him? _But she smiled instead.

"Just treat him as you would me, for now," she told him. "If he gives you too much trouble, let me know and I'll deal with it."

Galmar returned late in the day with Rolff in tow. They had had good hunting, and he handed off the gutted and field dressed carcasses of two elk to Calder.

"Make yourself useful, boy," he rumbled, as the housecarl stared at the mess. "Get those skinned and hung."

"I see your day was productive," Ashildr noted, making an attempt at pleasant conversation.

"Two elk and a bear," he grunted, in good-humor. "Not bad."

"Your things arrived from the Palace. I'll see about putting some dinner together," she replied, and eyed Rolff, "I assume we'll have a guest?"

"If you'll have me at your table, missus. Or I suppose I should say 'sister' now," the ugly sot said, grinning. _No,you should not_, she wanted to snarl in return, but spun around and whisked into the kitchen instead so she would not have to hit him. There were few people that she truly loathed, but Rolff Stone-Fist was one of them. He seemed to have forgotten the beating she had given him when they first met, and she guessed that he was just about due for a reminder.

"She's a fiery one," she heard Rolff remark to his brother as she rummaged around in the hod for kindling to stoke up the cook fire with. "I bet that dragon blood makes for something special between the sheets, eh?"

Ashildr did not hear Galmar's reply as she slammed a couple of garlic cloves down on the table and chopped them unmercifully. In due time, a simple supper of roasted fresh venison, potatoes, and grilled leaks was prepared, and she sat in relative silence while her brother-in-law prattled about this and that and how things were going to change for the better now that Ulfric was to be High King.

"Now those Thalmor will see which way the wind blows," he said, triumphantly, as if he had actually been involved in the war instead of just hauling his drunken self around the streets of Windhelm shouting at people. "And they can take those greyskins over in the slums with them."

"I think I'm in need of a walk," Ashildr announced, rising sharply, with a glance at Galmar. He watched her carefully, but did not interfere as she took her dishes back into the kitchen and hurried outside. As she stormed down to the Candlehearth, she groused under her breath, venting her frustrations to the night breeze. "Show _him_ which way the wind blows. Daedra-cursed clod-brained fetcher."

She ordered mead, found a table, and drank angrily until a familiar face approached and settled down in the chair across from her.

"Something troubles you?" Erandur asked her, sedately, and she grimaced.

"My brother-in-law is an idiot, my husband is . . ." she began and trailed off, making a strangled sound in her throat. "The man I wanted tossed me off like an old shoe and I'm a fool for letting all of this happen. A perfect display of folly all around. Are you entertained?"

But this was unfair and she didn't mean it. Erandur had been a good and constant traveling companion, and was one of the few people in Skyrim that she had come to trust implicitly. He did not seem offended, though, waiting for her to continue, and she sighed.

"I'm just . . . I don't know what to do."

"Have you spoken to him about it?" the priest asked sensibly.

"I've tried. I don't know how to talk to that man."

The Dunmer smiled. "Perhaps you should try listening instead, then."

She made a face, shrugged, and took another drink of mead.

"At least we'll both be back in the field soon. Maybe being apart for a while will make it easier."

"Have you considered," Erandur began, reasonably, "that perhaps this is not the worst choice you could have made? That it might, in fact, be to your benefit?"

She glared at him, but he went on unconcerned.

"If you remember, we spoke briefly about your family once before. You said you worried that you would end up like your father one day, wholly unconnected to anyone or any place and living for the next fight and the next bottle of ale. Well, now you have the chance to make a different life for yourself. It may not be perfect, but marriages are not meant to be."

"I was forced into this," she began angrily, but his smile only broadened, his brow arching in humor.

"Were you, now? Then why aren't you half way to Hammerfell at this moment? You could have struck out before the wedding. That ring on your finger did not come with chains. You remain free to leave at any time."

"Because . . ." she spluttered, and then composed herself, "Because my job here isn't finished."

"You acknowledge then that there is something more important than your own desires," he agreed. "Perhaps if you meditate on this as you come to terms with your new marriage, Mara will reveal the truth of the matter to you."

_I don't want to meditate on it, I just want it to go away_, she thought, but did not tell him that. Erandur meant well enough. But he had never been married himself, how could he know what it was like?

"I will be leaving for Dawnstar tomorrow," he continued, gently. "If you need me, you know where I will be. You are always welcome at my sanctuary, if you need advice or aid."

She nodded, feeling helplessness and anger creep into her gut once more. Life was moving on, and she was still stuck. By the time she drug herself home, half drunk and irritable, the house was dark and quiet. She made her way up to the bedroom, expecting Galmar to be waiting disapprovingly, but he looked to be asleep already. She undressed sullenly and slid into bed, pulling the covers up around her and staring into the rafters while she listened to Galmar breathing until she was no longer sure if she was awake or dreaming. _So, this is my life from now on. Union of two souls, indeed._

~~0~~

The news had to come eventually, and Ashildr had tried to steel herself for it, but the announcement that Ulfric was set to wed Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude caught her like a punch in the gut anyway. It made sense. It was the easiest consolidation of power, though Ashildr could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl, being more or less compelled to marry the man who had killed her husband. It made her own situation feel slightly less awful by comparison.

However, as plans went ahead and as the Moot approached, her restlessness grew worse. She could accept that she would never be with Ulfric and that there had never really been more between them than a passing flirtation anyway, the mildest of dalliances during a time of stress. But she was not at all certain now that she could accept watching someone else with him, either. Things were going nowhere with Galmar. They barely spoke to each other, despite eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed, and, while he did not seem to be angry with her, he did not appear well pleased with the situation either. She could not help but think that he would be just as happy to be rid of her as she would be to be gone.

Finally, one afternoon as she made her way home after having been out for most of the day dealing with a den of bandits that had set up a camp on one of the major trade roads, she made a decision. It was just too much. She wasn't cut out for settled life or marriage, for that matter. In that respect, too, she was her father's daughter after all. There was nothing in her upbringing or experience that had prepared her to deal with a problem that she could not solve with the sword or by simply moving on to better ground, and she was too set in her ways by now to change her life. Erandur was wrong.

Ulfric would be displeased, but she had won his war for him and it was more than apparent that she was no longer needed. And Galmar would no doubt be pleased to get on with his life without his thorny and reluctant bride. He could have the house and everything in it, as far as she was concerned. She didn't know where she would go yet, but anywhere had to be better than the slow torture she was experiencing here.

Calder was in the armory cleaning and sharpening his weapons when she arrived. He took one look at the expression on her face and frowned in concern.

"Is something amiss, my Thane?"

"Nothing," she told him, quickly, and then added, "Wait there."

She hurried up to her bedchamber and found her parchment and ink. The note she scribbled was short and to the point, outlining the barest reasons for why she had left, that she was not coming back, and that no one should bother to come looking for her because she was not going to be findable. She folded it twice and carried it back downstairs, handing it to her bemused housecarl.

"I'm going to be leaving soon. Business," she lied, so he would not ask questions. "Give that to Galmar after I've left, if you would be so kind."

"Thane . . ." he began to object, carefully, clearly suspecting what was about to happen, but she had already started shoving various supplies into a satchel and she ignored him. There was not much time, and she needed to travel light anyway.

Ashildr had just rolled out a map and poised herself over it, considering where she could go that she would not be immediately found and carted back home like a recalcitrant child when she heard the front door open and close. She let the map roll shut and shoved her bag under the table with her foot, cursing. It would have to wait until tomorrow now.

Galmar peered into the armory a few moments later and his eyes lit on her, cautiously.

"There you are," he rumbled. There was an odd note in his voice, almost hesitant. She turned and faced him, like a caught thief faces a guardsman. His look went shifty and inward for a moment, and then he grunted, "I've got something for you. Come out here."

Frowning, she followed him out into the main hall of the house. There was a burlap wrapped package on the table and she glanced up at Galmar quizzically. He nodded to it, with what might have almost passed for a smile if she had thought that the old bear was capable of producing one. Carefully, she stepped forward and pulled at the lacings that bound the package together, peeling back the rough sacking. Out tumbled the folds of what appeared to be a soft, thick animal fur. She looked up at him again, confused , and then picked the object up and shook it out.

It was a bearskin cloak, exceedingly well worked and softened until the hide was almost as flexible as fabric. It had been cleverly cut to allow the forelegs and claws to cover her chest, and an interlocking clasp of elk antler carved in the shape of a bear's head had been added at the throat. It was, in a word, beautiful.

"I know women usually like jewelry or fine clothes," he began, almost self-consciously. "Thought you might get more use out of this."

"It's . . ." she started, but could not finish the sentence as her thoughts spun wildly. _Why? Why are you doing this?_ "It's . . . lovely."

He smiled, a real smile this time, which shocked her more than the gift did.

"It's the bear Rolff and I shot last week. Big she-bear, beautiful animal. Thought it would fit you best. And you're not used to the winters this far north. Should serve you well in the coming months."

She gaped at him, thoroughly unable to account for this sudden generosity, and suddenly feeling deeply, deeply churlish. She looked down at the gift for a long moment and then set it down on the table. She couldn't accept it, not with the guilty plans of escape still fresh on her mind. "Galmar, I'm . . ."

He pre-empted her by stepping forward and laying an awkward kiss on her forehead, as if he were trying to be gentle and was not exactly sure how.

"You didn't ask for this," he said, then, shutting her up immediately. "But I did. I'm not Ulfric. But maybe you can see fit to be happy with me anyway."

His hand trailed off of her shoulder as he headed for the stairs to remove his gear and clean up after a long day, and she watched as thunderstruck as if she had been slapped. _He _had _asked_ for this? She thought back to the night they had arrived here and it dawned upon her now how her words must have stung if this was not merely some unpleasant duty for him. Why had he never let on?_Perhaps you should try listening instead_, Erandur said in her mind. She ran her fingers through the dense brown and blonde fur of the cloak . . . it really was a beautiful piece of work . . . and then draped it around her shoulders. Maybe, she reflected, she _had_ been too wrapped up inside of her own thoughts, too focused on what she felt was being taken away rather than what was right in front of her face. In her anger and fear, she had never paused to give him a real chance to explain. Turning, she climbed the stairs.

Just as she had on their first day here, she entered the bedroom as Galmar was removing his armor. Instead of waiting by the door, she moved over to him and started to help him with the buckles on his cuirass. He seemed surprised, but he did not object and when he was down to his clothes, she lay the thick armor aside and went up on her toes and kissed him, lightly, tentatively, on the lips.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely, as she looked up into his scarred face and grey eyes, "And . . . I'm sorry. Shall we start again?"

He smiled then and this time, when his huge hand curled around the back of her neck and he leaned down to kiss her, she did not pull away.


End file.
